Sliding Doors
by Vintagepop
Summary: Explores an alternate reality in which Thomas is given Moseley's position as Mathew's butler in season 1 of Downton Abbey. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

What on Earth was he doing in this little backwater?

For the life of him, Mathew could not understand his mother's enthusiasm for the place. Was association with the gentry supposed to be the pinnacle of achievement for every middle class family? To Mathew being uprooted from his pleasant professional life for the purpose of being placed into someone else's debt was an odious idea. He couldn't understand why he had allowed it to be done. Though he supposed his mother's enthusiasm had everything to do with it. He found it impossible to say no to the person who had borne him into the world and ensured he made his way safely through it. She had sacrificed for him, so it followed that he should sacrifice for her. But that did not mean he had to like it.

So he complained. Found fault with everything, including the unnecessary servants. They'd been given the most ridiculous butler. Of course, Mathew found the idea of having a butler ridiculous in the first place, but the one they'd been given was hardly a butler at all. Firstly he was far too young. Mathew envisioned all butlers to be rather like Carson, whom he'd met at Downton: old, stout and dignified, with the rumbling, operatic voice. Thomas had previously worked as a footman under this exemplary butler, and though one could not fault his training, his previous position was glaringly evident. As a rule, footmen were attractive, tall, and their thin frames did not generally house Carson's magnificent baritone. Thomas may have fulfilled all the prerequisites of a footman, but he was woefully lacking those of a butler.

But Thomas didn't necessarily bother him merely because Mathew regarded him as a footman masquerading as a butler; there was also something about his manner. Mathew had the distinct feeling that Thomas held him in contempt. A dependent, a man basically employed for the purpose of undressing him and bothering the cook, a man whose profession was practically a joke, had the nerve to look down upon an independent man? Added to this was the resentment Mathew felt at the implication that he couldn't dress himself. He'd done so before discovering he was heir to a fortune and would continue to do so. Damned if he'd let anyone change him.

He'd found his first night of having charge of a valet more then a little awkward. Thomas had attempted to do his job and Mathew had brusquely brushed him off. He hadn't realised until Thomas stood back nonchalantly and merely watched him that he'd expected the other man to be slightly hurt or at least put off by his rudeness. He'd wanted to take his frustrations out on someone and Thomas had been there. Realising this he felt ashamed and opened his mouth to apologise. Before he could, however, Thomas interrupted him.

"You know, I expect, to use the cutlery on the outside of your plate first and work your way in. That much is basic. Now, when a footman offers you…"

"What are you suggesting?" Mathew cut him off, affronted.

"I thought you might want to know sir, not having dined in a noble household before," Thomas answered with the proper obsequious inflection. However, Mathew observed the light in his eyes and knew what he was inferring.

"Thankyou, I do not have the table manners of a barbarian. I think I'll be able to comport myself," Mathew replied coldly.

"As you say," Thomas returned with an apologetic nod. "Now, if you don't require help selecting cufflinks _appropriate_ to the occasion, might I make my way downstairs?"

Unable to help himself, Mathew threw a glance down at the cufflinks he'd already selected. What was wrong with them? He found himself replying rather hotly, "I'm sure I can get through life rather well without having you tell me which cufflinks I ought to wear. Anyway, don't you think dressing someone is a rather silly occupation for a grown man? I'm an independent man, I don't need to be dressed like a doll"

"So independent you live with your mother," the words flew out of the other man's mouth and Mathew could see the regret in his eyes. He doubted it was there because Thomas genuinely felt contrite. It was more likely that he was worried about his job, having spoken out of turn to his employer.

"You may go now, Thomas," was all Mathew could be bothered to say in return.

Thomas sauntered towards the door in his own good time. If he was worried about his future employment, he did not show it. His manner was certainly not servile, regardless of his profession. Watching him, Mathew felt as though it were his butler who was the rightful occupant of this house, not himself.

Pausing before the door, Thomas made one parting sally. "The ones on the left side of the cabinet closest to you would be best, in case you were wondering"

Mathew ignored him. What else was he to do?

After readying himself, Mathew paused indecisively before the mirror and briefly considered switching his cufflinks. Angrily, he snatched his hand from where it had strayed towards the cabinet and marched out the door, reaffirming his vow not to let anyone change him.

Something had struck Mathew during dinner and he reflected on it as he settled into bed. For all that the Grantham's were as magnificently snobbish as he'd anticipated, one of them reminded him remarkably of his other supreme irritant. How he would love to be able to tell that fierce dowager that her prized granddaughter reminded him of his butler.

He had subconsciously recognised it earlier in the day, when Mary had entered in her riding habit. He'd had a distinct sense of déjà vu, and he felt rather as though he'd met her before. He realised now that her pale, creamy skin was the same shade as the working class butler that she'd imperiously ordered around whilst he was working for her. Her dramatic dark brows were also replicated on the young man's face. The mannish attire she'd worn when he'd met her hadn't worked to counteract the resemblance either. Facially, the only major point of difference was the eyes. Mary's were a deep brown which would have been welcoming if they weren't quite so sharp. He thought Thomas's were blue, though he hadn't paid much attention.

But from what he could tell, similarities were not merely skin-deep. Mary's sharp tongue and her veiled insults reminded him of Thomas's behaviour before the ill-fated dinner. He supposed Mary insulted at a higher level. She had the classics to draw on, as she'd shown with her reference to Andromeda. Thomas merely had a prosaic knowledge of etiquette as weaponry, however he'd done a remarkable job with what he had. The main distress of the evening for Mathew was a niggling worry that he'd made some sort of faux par with his cufflinks. Damn the man. He'd talk to Lord Grantham, who seemed reasonable enough, about getting rid of him. After all, he didn't need a manservant. One Mary was more than enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Mathew came back from his talk with Lord Grantham feeling humbled and contrite. Everyone did have their place after all, and he now meant to take full advantage of Thomas's services. Make him feel appreciated. True, his butler didn't defer to him the way he would a gentleman, but Mathew found he rather liked that. A docile manservant would have irritated him to no end. Besides, Mathew realised he'd never once acted the gentleman in Thomas's presence. What right had he to complain?

Mathew waited for Thomas to appear to dress him for the evening. He would take his advice when it came to cufflinks, allow him to put on his jacket, tie up his cummerbund, whatever was standard procedure. However, he continued to wait nearly a quarter of an hour. Eventually he gave up and impatiently rang the bell, quietly fuming at the delay.

Thomas sauntered in as usual and bowed; somewhat ironically, Mathew thought. "Do you require assistance?" he asked politely.

"Er, yes…I was wondering which cufflinks I ought to wear," Mathew swallowed his pride enough to answer.

"I thought my services were dispensable," Thomas answered, not making a move. "I'd thought you couldn't wait to be shot of me"

Mathew paused. "I had a talk with Lord Grantham. He explained to me that we all have our roles and…"

"How very feudal," Thomas said cuttingly. "I thought you weren't going to let them change you"

Mathew stepped back like he'd been struck in the face. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him. Yet before he could react, Thomas continued.

"You're right though. I'd like to feel I was useful and I would like to actually do my job. I'm a good valet. But I want you to know this isn't all I want to do with my life. I have ambitions, and I don't want you to patronise me"

"I respect that," Mathew answered, feeling his anger die. "Perhaps we ought to start over?"

"Very good sir," Thomas said with a wry smile before stepping forward and sliding Mathew's jacket on in one fluid movement. He then took hold of a brush Mathew had been unable to decipher the use for and began brushing lint off his shoulders.

"How are you finding the Grantham family?" Thomas asked while he worked and Mathew was surprised he bothered making small talk.

"Tolerable," he answered, before realising he wasn't doing them justice. "Mary's a brilliant if shrewish young woman of course, and Lord Grantham's a good man. Cousin Cora is a lovely hostess. But they're not really my sort of people"

"Lady Edith's a snake in the grass," Thomas commented.

"She seems perfectly lovely," Mathew replied hotly, feeling the need to defend his cousin.

"No one ever thinks Lady Edith is perfectly lovely," Thomas said with a knowing smirk.

Mathew couldn't help but smile at Thomas's reflection in the mirror he was standing in front of. It was wrong to talk of her that way, but in all honesty he never had thought of Edith as perfectly lovely.

"I heard she made you visit every church in the county," Thomas continued.

Mathew groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I had to fake an interest in architecture to avoid conversation," he confessed.

"Not very subtle, is she?" Thomas asked. Mathew was about to rebuke him, but before he could Thomas smoothed down his lapels and smirked again.

"There we are, ready for the ball," he said and made to exit the room.

Mathew realised he was indeed ready and looking quite the gentleman. Thomas had apparently been right. He was a good valet. "Thankyou," he called after Thomas, who paused at the door to bow in acknowledgement. Mathew was surprised how easy and friendly the conversation had been. What was an awkward situation seemed to have resolved itself and he was glad of it. Perhaps he ought to follow Lord Grantham's example more often.

Mathew awoke with certain sensual images in his mind. He couldn't picture clearly what he'd been dreaming about, but creamy, pale skin and dark hair stuck in his mind. Perhaps Mary was having an effect on him. He readily acknowledged her as a beauty, although her imperious personality grated on him. However, if he could be friendly to Thomas, he supposed there was no stopping him from forming a favourable relationship with anyone.

Speaking of the devil seemed to make him appear and Thomas arrived through the door carrying Mathew's freshly pressed morning suit. Mathew stretched and made to pull away the covers before realising he was aroused and rolling onto his stomach. This was certainly an uncomfortable situation. What did the gentry do when this happened to them?

"Sir, it's a fair commute I believe. If you insist on having a job there's no point in being late for it," Thomas sounded impatient. "Anyway, breakfast's on and Mrs. Bird won't be pleased if you let it get cold"

Thomas was waiting for him to get up, so he could dress him. Dear lord. How could he ask him to leave without appearing to renege on his promise not to patronise the other man?

"I was wondering whether you'd give me a moment Thomas? Just a moment?" Mathew's voice came out thin, strained and just a little whiny. He hated feeling this vulnerable in his own bed, unable to even look at the man standing across the room.

"If you want to sleep in, you ought to quit that job. I would," Thomas grumbled.

Mathew sat up, hastily grabbing a pillow to cover the area. "I assure you, I intend to work until the day I die," he said passionately.

However Thomas's eye had strayed to the obviously placed pillow. "Perhaps you ought to dress yourself this morning?" he asked with an arched eyebrow, after which he promptly left the room.

Once he had, Mathew collapsed on his bed and groaned. He couldn't recall being more embarrassed. He dressed himself and went off to work as usual however, busying himself with speculations as to why the fierce dowager had asked to see him later that afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

Mathew rode through the village on his bicycle, reflecting on the odd conversation he'd just had with the dowager. Why would she ask him of all people to look into the entail? He'd do it of course and he'd do a thorough job, but he felt strangely conflicted. The idea of being the Earl of Grantham, looking after the land and the tenants had become surprisingly appealing surprisingly quickly. Through the haze of his thoughts, Mathew noticed his butler leaning against the brick wall of the post office in plain clothes, smoking a cigarette.

Seeing Thomas in plain clothes immediately humanized him. He looked smaller and less intimidating out of his overly starched uniform and Mathew suddenly wondered exactly what Thomas did do in his spare time. Unthinkingly, Mathew pulled his bicycle up beside him and greeted him with a "hullo".

Thomas pulled the cigarette languidly out of his mouth. "Your mother gave me the afternoon off, was supposed to be meeting a friend"

"Oh?" with a questioning inflection was the only reply Mathew could think of. It was so odd seeing Thomas in this setting.

"O'Brien, one of the maids from Downton," Thomas explained. "She mightn't have been able to get away though. It's a big house, sometimes extra work is necessary"

"Is she your sweetheart?" Mathew asked, an unexpected tightness forming in his stomach.

Thomas pulled his cigarette out of his mouth in order to be able to laugh long and hard. The first time Mathew had seen him laugh or even genuinely smile. "She's old enough to be my mother," Thomas explained after calming down. "Even if she wasn't she wouldn't be anything to write home about. We were allies at Downton, and I miss a bit of a gossip"

Thomas crushed the stub of the cigarette under his heel and began to roll another one. Mathew watched the progress eagerly. It had been a long time since he'd smoked. Thomas turned and asked uncertainly whether he'd like a smoke.

"No," Mathew answered. "I haven't smoked in years. Mother doesn't approve." He winced saying this last sentence, Thomas's taunt 'so independent you live with your mother' coming back to him.

Thomas smirked and proceeded to roll another cigarette. "Mummy's not here," he told him. "Besides, you look a little stressed. One won't hurt"

Mathew watched as he placed both cigarettes in his mouth and lit them there. He shivered slightly, in anticipation, he thought, as Thomas took one of the cigarettes from his mouth and handed it to him. "Do you speak to all your employers this way?" he asked as he took the cigarette.

Thomas smirked. "I'm perfectly polite to your mother," he answered.

"So I am special," Mathew said sarcastically.

"Do you mind?" Thomas asked.

"No," Mathew replied, and was surprised to find he didn't.

Mathew found himself prattling on about Mary to Thomas while standing in front of the mirror. It happened increasingly often lately, that he would irritate Thomas with stories about the Lady Mary, who he was now getting on with famously. He wasn't sure if he was doing it because he liked Mary and liked talking about her, or because it got under Thomas's skin and he enjoyed doing that. Whereas the other man seemed to know all about him and how best to get a rise out of him, Mathew knew next to nothing about Thomas. So far, this was the only sure fire way Mathew had of annoying him and he exploited it endlessly.

Today Thomas finally snapped. "She'll never marry you, you know," it was harsh and the words seemed to come out of nowhere. "Being engaged to one cousin, who dies prematurely and then marrying the other? It's a little too _Wuthering Heights_, don't you think?"

Mathew felt unaccountably angry over the insinuation he wasn't good enough for Mary. "I suppose I'm the savage Hareton then? Illiterate, barbaric, lower class, disgusting the delicate heroine?"

"I'd more thought you were Linton, sir. You lie around complaining enough," Thomas answered, turning to leave.

He didn't quite know what passion seized him, for Mathew Crawley was not a man whom passion usually seized, but suddenly he was holding Thomas's arm in a vice like grip. His hold kept Thomas close to his face as he asked, "So I'm weak and sickly, am I?" with quiet menace.

Thomas tested the grip slightly, and then looked Mathew full in the face. "Well…" he began and Mathew was unsure how it happened but Thomas managed to twist Mathew's own arm around his back into a police grip. "…I'd hate to spoil your illusion, but you're hardly a robust, rustic youth".

Mathew used his leg to trip Thomas slightly and loosen his grip. Before he knew it, he'd tackled the valet to the ground and was pinning him there. He'd gone too far, surely. There was no reason for this kind of behaviour.

Thomas looked up at him, seeming small and vulnerable with his well-plastered hair askew. His blue eyes had widened and his pupils were blown. Mathew felt himself being assaulted by an onslaught of emotions he hadn't experienced since early puberty. No, surely he'd rid himself of those thoughts years ago? He'd worked so hard to. Yet Thomas was there, sprawled underneath him, clothes slightly awry and all Mathew wanted to do was lean forward and claim his mouth. He even dared to think it looked as though Thomas wouldn't resist, either.

"I suppose you are a bit of a savage," in another tone, it could have been flirtatious, but it didn't come out of Thomas's mouth that way. His voice was shaky and he sounded almost scared. The vulnerability wouldn't leave his eyes, even if Mathew thought he could see desire there as well. This wasn't the confident, poised Thomas that Mathew was familiar with. He'd made him feel like this and in that moment, Mathew did feel like a savage.

He stood up quickly and offered Thomas a hand, which the valet took with a confused expression on his face. "I'm so sorry," he apologised profusely. "That was uncalled for. I promise, I'll never touch you like that again…"

A veil seemed to draw itself over Thomas's eyes, rendering his expression blank. "You needn't worry," was all he said, before making his way out of the room.

Mathew repeated his apologies in the morning, but Thomas quickly cut him off, saying they were unnecessary. They reverted to their usual banter of meaningless insults and jokes, but something had changed. They were careful around each other now, as though the other were brittle and might break. Touches were sometimes lingering and often over analysed, at least on Mathew's part.

Eventually, Mathew managed to push the sensations he had felt whilst pinning Thomas to the ground to the back of his mind with all the others. A significant step towards a normality, which returned, altered only slightly.


	4. Chapter 4

Mathew didn't realise he was infatuated until he had to fight for his Cousin Mary's attention. Of course he believed she had prompted that unfortunate morning incident, but Mathew viewed that as merely carnal. Although on friendlier terms with Mary, he wouldn't say he necessarily enjoyed her company. More like preferred it to that of her vapid sisters. Sybil was too young to be of interest and Edith simply wasn't of interest. Mary was the only viable sparring partner in the art of conversation.

Now that Mr. Pamuk was usurping her interest however, he could not deny his jealousy. Evelyn Napier's attempt to commiserate with him merely infuriated him more. He'd had a dull evening and he'd missed her. He couldn't help but wish Pamuk would go back to Turkey or wherever it was he came from.

Thomas was waiting up to undress him and Mathew stood moodily like a doll as he began to. His butler picked up on his mood and inquired whether Lady Grantham had sat him next to Edith.

Mathew's surly face broke into a smile. "No," he answered, "It's petty really," he added by way of explanation.

"May as well tell me," Thomas gruffly encouraged.

"Mary was absorbed by some Turkish ambassador the entire night; I suppose I was a little jealous," Mathew confessed.

Thomas nodded once, before bending down and beginning to untie Mathew's shoelaces. Mathew couldn't help but be slightly shocked. Thomas had never been quite this thorough before.

"Steady on," he couldn't help but say.

Thomas looked up at him. "Do you know why people have servants?" he asked, rhetorically. "Believe it or not, most of you can actually dress yourselves. People have servants because servants have to acknowledge them and pay attention to them. So allow me to massage your ego. Oh and sit down so I can take these off"

Mathew sat without protest. He couldn't quite identify what exactly he was feeling. An odd, but not unpleasant, sensation had spread through his stomach. He hadn't expected Thomas to try and make him feel better in any way, particularly in one as strange as taking his shoes off for him. It had somehow worked though, thoughts of Mary and Mr. Pamuk disappeared from his mind.

It was safe, looking down at Thomas's head to acknowledge the strange attraction he held for Mathew. Mathew wasn't a slave to his lust and believed he could quite happily marry a woman, do his duty and father children before settling into a quiet domesticity. He didn't expect passion, or necessarily want it, and he expected fathering his children to be a chore rather than a pleasure. He felt safe in admitting to himself that he thought he could experience passion with Thomas, were the other man willing. But he didn't feel the need to fulfil that thought. It was a speculation; it would come to nothing.

There was a knock on the door and Thomas went to answer it after Mathew gave a slight nod. His mother was standing there, her mouth full of a message. "Ah Thomas," she said, "I've just had a note from Downton. Apparently one of the footmen, Molesley, has somehow injured himself so they're short a valet. The Turkish gentleman, Pamuk, left his man behind, so it's something of an emergency. Would you mind terribly going down? You'll receive a bonus, of course"

"If Mr. Crawley has no objections, I'd be happy to, ma'am," Thomas replied with the scrupulous politeness he always used around Mathew's mother and which Mathew found amusing, coming from him.

"Mr. Crawley has no reason to object," Isobel replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll send word you'll be down in half an hour"

After Thomas left, Mathew felt another surge of ill will towards Mr. Pamuk. It wasn't enough he had to enchant Mary, one of the only women he had even a semblance of attraction too, now he had to steal Thomas.

It was late when there was a quietly urgent knock on Mathew's door and he was pulled from a light sleep. "Come in," he grumbled, after ascertaining he was decent, wondering whom on Earth it could be at this time of night. He fumbled for the lamp switch as the door opened. He was slightly stunned to see Thomas, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hair askew, looking more than a little terrified.

"Good god man, what's happened?" he asked, sitting up straight in bed and attempting to rouse himself.

Thomas began to pace the room, looking wild. "The Turkish gentleman asked me where Lady Mary's room was. Told me to take him there. He intends to…"

Mathew cut him off, knowing very well what that slimy bastard intended to do. "Have you warned her?" he asked urgently.

"How could I?" Thomas asked wretchedly. "I'm going to have to show him…"

"What?" Mathew interrupted harshly. "What do you mean by that?"

"He knows something about me," Thomas said hollowly. "Something that could ruin me. I wouldn't have hesitated but…I couldn't do it to you"

"What does it have to do with me?" Mathew asked, astounded.

"You love her," Thomas answered flatly, before hiding his face in his hands. "What is wrong with me?" he moaned into them.

Did he love her? It didn't seem right, especially coming from Thomas's mouth. He'd call what he had for her affection, but he didn't see it as anything more. Mathew shook his head. It was a question to ponder for another time; right now he needed to focus on the present.

"I'll inform Lord Grantham of Mr. Pamuk's intentions, he'll know how best to handle it," Mathew said, getting out of bed and reaching for his clothes as Thomas continued to stand, head in hands. "But first," Mathew gently touched one of the hands obscuring Thomas's face, "I need to know what he has on you"

"I can't tell you," Thomas mumbled.

Mathew gently but firmly prised the hands from Thomas's face and was astonished to find tears underneath them. He guided Thomas over to his bed and forced the shaken man to sit down. "I need to know," he insisted. "Before I do this, I need to know how it will affect you"

"Why?" Thomas asked dejectedly.

Why indeed? If he loved Mary, as Thomas seemed to think, his butler's feelings shouldn't have come into the equation. He should have been running off to save her. "Your…part of my staff. I have a responsibility for you," was the first thoughtless thing that popped out of Mathew's mouth. "Besides, I like to think we're friends," he hurried on, "and, well, whatever it is might affect my reputation as well". All good excuses, but Mathew knew he hadn't told the truth.

Thomas let out a shaky breath, staring at his knees, avoiding eye contact. "I'm…different," he began, wincing.

"I know," Mathew said, almost fondly. Thomas was like no one on Earth.

Thomas continued as though he hadn't heard him. "Mr. Pamuk made me think he was…interested. Encouraged me. I made a pass at him," Thomas looked up then, eyes fearful.

It took Mathew a moment to process what Thomas had said. "What?" he asked emptily.

"He threatened to tell you and the Crawley family about my preferences. If I don't do it, everyone will know and gossip's going to be the least of my worries. I understand if you don't want me working for you anymore, but please, I could go to jail if other people…"

Mathew cut off Thomas's tirade by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry," he told him. "I'll tell Lord Grantham that he threatened to accuse you of making an advance if you didn't show him Lady Mary's bedroom. That way, if he comes to Lord Grantham with that story, he'll think Pamuk's lying"

Thomas's eyes brightened with hope. "You don't mind that…"

"Don't worry," Mathew began throwing his clothes on, before striding purposefully towards the door. "You'll still have a job in the morning and Lady Mary will still have her virginity".


	5. Chapter 5

Mathew sat uncomfortably in Lord Grantham's study as he told the tale as coherently as he could. When he was finished, the Earl raised an eyebrow.

"And you're sure about all of this?" he asked with gravity.

"What possible advantage could Thomas gain from a story like this?" Mathew asked. "I personally haven't witnessed any untoward behaviour from Mr. Pamuk, but it pays to be sure. Perhaps Mary could sleep with one of her sisters tonight?"

Lord Grantham nodded his agreement. "A sensible suggestion, though I doubt Mary will be happy about us babying her. I'll be honest with you; I've had reason to doubt Thomas's veracity on several occasions. However, as you say, it pays to take precautions. I'll ask Mr. Pamuk to step in and have a brandy with me and either Sybil or Mary's maid can stay with her tonight. I appreciate you letting me know," he finished, with one of his intense, level stares.

Mathew recognised this as a dismissal and mounted his bicycle after refusing Lord Grantham's offer of the car. He wouldn't wake the chauffer at this time of night for such a short trip.

Biking through the crisp, night air, Mathew mulled the events of the evening over. He'd had a bad feeling about that Pamuk character from the beginning. He was simply too charming. Perhaps the resentment he felt when Mary and the stranger were together hadn't been jealousy, as he'd thought, but a kind of brotherly concern. It made more sense.

His main ruminations were on the newly discovered information that Thomas was 'that way'. As he was himself, if he were honest about it, though he had never once acted on his feelings. How would this affect their working relationship? He'd in effect promised Thomas that it wouldn't, but he doubted that would be the case. What if something gripped him like it had that evening when he'd tackled Thomas to the ground? He doubted he'd be able to resist a second time.

When he arrived home and quietly climbed the stairs, Mathew was surprised to see light from the lamp in his bedroom seeping through the door. He'd thought Thomas would have turned it off after leaving, but it would make sense if he'd been a little remiss. The man had been severely shaken.

Upon opening the door, he was yet more surprised to find Thomas in the same position he had been when he left. Thomas was hunched over, head in hands, his body moving in a faint rocking motion. His lips silently mouthed words, as though he were in prayer. His skin seemed to glow in the dim candlelight, and Mathew found himself as enchanted as Mary had been most of that day. He sat down softly beside the other man and gently touched his shoulder. Thomas started, as though he hadn't heard him come in and turned anxious blue eyes toward Mathew. He cleared his throat. "Well?" it came out as a whisper.

"Lord Grantham believes your account," Mathew answered him. "Lady Sybil's been sent to spend the night with Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk has been invited into Lord Grantham's study for a 'friendly chat'"

Relief overspread Thomas's features. "So I'm clear?" he asked, hope brightening his eyes. Mathew nodded in response.

"Thankyou," Thomas replied earnestly. Seeming unsure how to convey his thanks he reached up to squeeze the hand that rested on his shoulder. He left it for a few moments and then shifted, preparing to leave.

"Wait," Mathew's voice broke the perfect silence. "Stay. I want to tell you something"

Thomas stilled his movements and looked curiously at him. Mathew rubbed a hand over his face, uncertain how to begin. "Do you have a cigarette?" he was unsure where the words came from, but he felt he definitely needed one.

Thomas smiled and pulled a packet from the pocket of his uniform, lighting two as he had done the afternoon they had smoked on the street. The motion relaxed them both and Mathew took off his jacket, scooted over on the bed and lay down. "You may as well stay the night," he told Thomas, staring at the ceiling and not at him. "It's so late it'll be morning in a few hours"

Thomas hesitated, then loosened his bow tie and climbed into bed. Mathew could feel him next to him, stiff as a board as though expecting to be thrown out at any moment. Mathew took a long drag of his cigarette, still staring at the ceiling, not at Thomas. He found it helped.

"My father was a doctor…" he finally began.

"That's not exactly a shocking revelation," Thomas's sarcastic tone drifted over from the other side of the bed.

Mathew shot an exasperated look over at Thomas, who smiled and held up his hands. "Sorry," he apologised. "Continue"

"My father was a doctor," Mathew continued, eyes back on the ceiling. "So when he noticed something…strange, about his son, it was his instinct to try and cure it. I didn't understand why, but he took away all the toys I preferred as a child; the stuffed animals and the baby dolls given to me by my older female cousins and replaced them. With tin soldiers and sling shots and other things I had no interest in. Masculine things. I was made to run and exercise for a set time every day. I was always dressed in very plain, masculine clothes. No colour. When I was older he took me to a crackpot hypnotist. He also gave me…inappropriate pictures of women, which I pretended to be interested in. After all that he thought I was cured. So did I"

"My dad just tried to beat it out of me," Thomas commented, exhaling cigarette smoke.

Mathew turned over on his side to look at the other man. "What did you do?" he asked softly.

Thomas shrugged. "Hit him back, once. I was terrified about what he'd do to me after that, so I ran away. Got a job at Downton, stayed there. Got this job. That's about all"

There was a pause as both men reflected on what had been said. Then Thomas stubbed out his cigarette in the previously unused ashtray and said, "So I guess you don't love Mary?"

Mathew put his head back and laughed for what felt the first time in a long time. "No, I have a…brotherly affection for Mary. She reminds me a little of you, actually," he finally answered.

Thomas looked as though he had a bad taste in her mouth. "Don't compare me to any of them upstairs, if you knew how they treated us…"he shook his head.

"Do I treat you badly?" Mathew asked with genuine concern. He supposed he was one of the 'upstairs' set now.

Thomas shook his head. "You treat me like a person," he replied. "But if after all this you tell me you have the same 'brotherly affection' for me that you do for Lady Mary, I will kill you"

Mathew found himself inching closer to Thomas. Both were lying on their sides facing each other. When they were almost nose-to-nose, Mathew stopped. "You're not too heartbroken over Mr. Pamuk's rejection then?" he asked. It was meant to sound teasing, but he wanted a genuine answer.

Thomas shook his head. "I was trying to forget about you for a while," he answered.

Matthew closed the distance between them. He realised he was kissing roughly and a little sloppily, due to his lack of experience. Thomas, for his part, was kissing seductively. It was unnatural though, as though he had been taught to kiss that way. Realising they weren't connecting, Mathew pulled back for a moment and gently stroked Thomas's face. He thought of all the hurt expressions he had seen on it that night and an unbelievable tenderness overcame him. He never wanted the other man to go through hurt like that again.

Mathew leant forward again and this time, kissed sweetly and slowly. Thomas faltered for a moment, as though unused to being kissed that way. He returned the gesture hesitantly, but with purpose. Mathew felt dizzy with the emotions Thomas gave the kiss. It was overwhelming. He'd never acted on any of the thoughts he'd experienced during adolescence. When it got too much, he pulled back and rested his head against Thomas's forehead in a gesture that felt just as intimate as what they'd just done.

"Well…" Thomas cleared his throat and relaxed into the touch. "It seems I won't have to kill you after all"

Mathew chuckled and pulled the other man into a bear hug. Thomas struggled half-heartedly against the movement before relaxing, tucking his head under Mathew's chin, and resting his face on Mathew's chest, above his heart. As Mathew felt the rise and fall of Thomas's breathing grow deeper and more relaxed, a disproportionately sized grin appeared on his face. In spite of all the drama and angst of the evening, life felt uncomplicated in a way that it hadn't since his first arrival at Downton Abbey. He mused on this as he absent-mindedly carded a hand through Thomas's unusually ruffled hair. The other man seemed to sigh in his sleep, and shuffled closer to Mathew, arms tightening around his waist. Mathew was pleased with how surprisingly tactile Thomas seemed; he hadn't put him down for the cuddling type. 'Just another pleasant surprise,' he thought, as he sentimentally kissed the top of Thomas's head, extinguished the lamp, and settled down to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Matthew was momentarily confused by the foreign presence in his bed the next morning. He found it a novel yet pleasant sensation to wake up beside someone. Naturally, he wasn't given time to savour the experience.

"Matthew!" his mother rapped once on the door before bursting into the room, giving Matthew just enough time to throw a blanket over Thomas's still sleeping head. He sat up quickly in an attempt to further obscure the other figure in the bed.

"You realise it's Saturday morning?" he complained, attempting to keep from sounding at all panicked. "We don't have to be anywhere"

"That's where you're wrong," Isobel corrected with barely disguised relish. "There's some kind of emergency at Downton. One of the servants just came to tell us. Lord Grantham requires your presence immediately"

"Is Mary alright?" Matthew asked anxiously, a sickening feeling settling in his stomach. Perhaps Lord Grantham hadn't been as firm with Pamuk as the situation required.

"Mary? Oh she's fine! It's nothing to do with any of the family. Moseley said he thought Lord Grantham had better explain. He seems quite troubled about the whole affair"

Matthew had a quick sensation of relief before his mother sailed onto the next subject. "By the way, you haven't seen Thomas have you? I was going to send him to wake you, but he isn't in the servants quarters, and Mrs Bird says she hasn't seen him this morning"

It was of course at this moment, that Thomas began to stir beside him.

"Well _mother_," Matthew said loudly, hoping Thomas would get the hint. Luckily he did, and the wriggling beneath the covers instantly stilled. "It was rather late when we sent him over yesterday evening, perhaps they offered him a place in the servants quarters at Downton"

"Ah, I thought that too, but I asked Mr Moseley when he was here this morning, and apparently he left last night," Isobel replied, the bug eyed expression she got when meddling in other people's affairs plastered all over her face.

"Perhaps he stayed at the pub in Ripon?" Matthew suggested desperately. "He may have been worried about waking us, coming back so late. For that matter, he may have family in the area that we don't know about. He could have taken the opportunity to stay the night with them"

"Yes I suppose so," Isobel mused. "It would be just like him to stay away out of courtesy. Completely unnecessary of course, but he is _so _polite"

"Thomas?" Mathew couldn't help but confirm.

"Who else would I be talking of? I don't know much about the criteria, but I would think that he could safely be called a model servant"

"Thomas?" Mathew repeated.

"Don't be so dull!" Isobel ordered in exasperation. "Best get ready, it won't do to keep Lord Grantham waiting. Just dress, we can breakfast with the Crawley's"

Isobel stood in a posture of expectation, waiting for Matthew to fly into action. Matthew cleared his throat once, hinting for her to leave. When she remained still he sighed in exasperation. "Perhaps if you left…" he began.

"Oh of course!" Isobel exclaimed. "I'll meet you outside in ten minutes!"

As Isobel closed the door firmly behind her, Matthew exhaled in relief and pulled back the covers that had successfully obscured Thomas. There he found the other man curled into a ball, trying to stifle a fit of giggles.

"What exactly is so funny about my mother nearly catching us in bed together?" Matthew asked in an accusing voice.

"Well…probably…" Thomas breathed out between gasps of mirth, "the fact that she nearly caught us in bed together? I can honestly say I've never had this problem before" he added before collapsing into another fit of silent giggles.

"Speaking of my mother, since when have _you_ been a model servant?" Matthew asked, with an amused smile of his own.

"Since I made that jibe about you being a mummy's boy," Thomas confessed. "I figured I'd already irritated you, so I'd better get on her good side in case you wanted to sack me"

"Why you manipulative little…" Matthew trailed off with a shake of his head, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"You have to admit it was clever. You know she wouldn't let you dismiss anyone _she_ liked," Thomas explained.

"I think you're entirely too clever for your own good. Or mine," Matthew couldn't help but tenderly stroke the other man's cheek to emphasise the affection behind the words. He still felt awkward touching Thomas. Like most proper Englishmen he normally found displays of physical affection uncomfortable. However, for Thomas, such feelings could certainly be put aside.

Thomas reached up and enclosed one of Matthew's hands in one of his own, holding it against his face. He looked up at Matthew with an expression in his eyes that Matthew felt he could only describe as a 'come hither' look. Without considering his actions, Matthew found himself hovering above Thomas and placing a hesitant kiss on his mouth.

Thomas responded by deepening the kiss, and threading a hand through Matthew's hair. It was all very exhilarating, and Matthew felt almost disorientated and dizzy as his blood conspired to leave his face and pool…somewhere else. Embarrassed, he pulled back. But Thomas was still looking up at him with those eyes, and lazily running his hands across his arms and chest.

"I…ah…mother's waiting for me outside," Matthew announced lamely.

Thomas let out a sigh of disappointment, and seemed for a moment to pout. "Shame we couldn't have had a lie in," he said, suggestively.

"Yes, well, knowing her if I'm late she'll barge in again, and catching the two of us in bed kissing is just that little bit more damning then seeing us in the same bed fully clothed," Matthew replied while untangling himself from the covers, and getting out of bed.

"True," Thomas acknowledged, though he sounded disgruntled.

Matthew hurried over to the wardrobe, and selected a few odd articles of clothing. He gave pause before undressing, looking over towards Thomas who was now sitting up in bed as though unsure whether to help in the dressing process or not.

"Would you mind…turning around?" Matthew asked uncertainly, feeling suddenly shy.

Thomas raised one eyebrow. "I dress you for a living, Matthew Crawley," he pointed out.

"I realise that," Matthew spluttered. "But…would you turn around anyway?"

"Fine," Thomas harrumphed, dramatically pulling the covers over his head in a display of displeasure.

As Matthew pulled on trousers, shirt, and a jacket, he heard Thomas mutter, "You're no fun". Grinning to himself as he fastened the last of his buttons, Matthew swiftly kissed the pale forehead peaking above the covers, and swept out of the room.

"I'll see you later," he promised, before leaving.

Later seemed to take place an eternity after the morning's rude awakening. Matthew felt physically and emotionally drained by the time evening approached. Not feeling like talking to Isobel he feigned a headache, and announced his plan to go to bed early. Isobel rang the bell and promised to send Thomas up to him. The promise of seeing him gave Matthew the fortitude to climb the stairs. It was funny how other people's distress could make you feel old.

Matthew collapsed into an armchair in the corner of his bedroom and toed off his shoes, before staring broodingly into the distance. Death never lead to particularly pleasant ruminations even when you thought the dead man a pompous, slimy, perverted git. Matthew's reflections were mercifully interrupted by the sound of Thomas coming through the door.

"I heard about Mr Pamuk," he stated without preamble.

"How could you possibly already know about Mr Pamuk?" Matthew asked in exasperation. Thomas replied with a look that clearly articulated the phrase, _how could I possibly _not_ know about Mr Pamuk?_

Matthew rubbed his temples, and gave up that line of inquiry as a lost cause. Instead, he began to say what had really been on his mind the whole day, "We neither of us have a reason to be particularly fond of Mr Pamuk but…it just seems incredible to me that he could have died. He wasn't any older than we are"

"No he wasn't. But before you start talking about the fleeting nature of life, and the fact that any of us could go at any time, you'll want to hear what I know," Thomas said impatiently.

"What is that?" Matthew asked, a little flummoxed by Thomas's reaction.

"His death may not have been as natural as the doctors believe," Thomas began. "O'Brien was upstairs last night around the time of his death. Her ladyship was suffering from a stomach complaint, and needed Sarah to brew her some chamomile tea or some such," here Thomas paused in his narrative to shake his head at the frivolous demands of the aristocracy. "So she was up on the landing, and saw Lord Grantham and his crippled valet, Bates, carrying what looked to her like a body covered in a sheet. It was late, and she dismissed it as a fancy at the time. But this morning Mr Pamuk was dead"

"What are you suggesting, Thomas?" Matthew's head shot up in alarm at his butler's insinuations.

"I'm not suggesting anything, I'm just telling you what I know. Sarah's not above twisting words and situations to her advantage, but I don't see what she'd gain by telling me this story. I believe she saw what she said she saw," Thomas replied with a forthright sincerity that Matthew found a little strange, coming from him.

"I just won't believe that of Lord Grantham," Matthew argued. "He's a good man. He certainly wouldn't be capable of murder…"

"I believe everyone is capable of murder," Thomas announced, rather startling Matthew.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Thomas grumbled in response to the look on Matthew's face. "I just mean that everyone can be pushed. Lord Grantham loves his daughters…"

"Please Thomas, just stop," Matthew felt a pressure growing at his temples. He felt as though his head was being squeezed between a pair of forceps.

"But we have to be sure we aren't implicated," Thomas insisted.

"What?" Mathew raised his aching head to look disbelievingly at Thomas.

"Well, we both had what other people would call motives," Thomas answered. "If Pamuk mentioned to anyone else what happened between me and him …"

"No one else knows," Mathew reassured him.

"But if someone _did_ know, and they spoke to a police officer…" Thomas continued.

"No one is going to accuse you of murder, besides…what do you mean we _both_ have motives?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"Well, in the eyes of most the world, you are in love with the Lady Mary. Even _I _thought you were in love with her. Mr Pamuk was flirting with her all day, from what I've heard. If you were wearing that awful sulky expression you had on when I undressed you last night, then I imagine most people would have thought you were jealous. You also returned to Downton late last night, and sat with Lord Grantham in his study before he invited Mr Pamuk in for 'a friendly chat'. You left directly after that, refusing to stay the night at Downton in spite of the late hour. Don't you think that looks suspicious?"

"Thomas," Mathew replied, attempting to be reasonable. "This isn't some whodunit. The doctors think it was his heart or some such…"

"I just think we ought to have an alibi," Thomas insisted.

"Even if there was a police investigation, I think it would be in our best interests to tell the truth," Matthew stated staunchly.

"Of course. If they suspect you, we'll tell them you had no reason to kill Mr Pamuk since your _brotherly_ affections for Lady Mary pale in significance to your romantic attachment to your butler. If they suspect me, I'll simply tell them that I hold no bitterness towards Mr Pamuk as I was able to secure the affections of a worthier gentleman later that night," Thomas responded sarcastically.

"Point taken…we wouldn't be able to tell them the truth," Matthew acknowledged, defeated. "If there _is_ a police investigation, we'll talk about this some more. But I do not believe any member of the Crawley family to be capable of murder, and I would prefer not to talk about this tonight"

Thomas appeared to have a very sudden change of heart, and decided to relent. "Of course, it must have been a very trying day for you," he acknowledged, soothingly. "Let's get you undressed"

Matthew blinked, feeling a little slow after the rapid-fire change in conversation. He thought about refusing the service for the same reasons he had that morning, but recognised the notion was ridiculous. It was Thomas's job to undress him after all, and it wasn't as though he hadn't done it before. Matthew stood in front of the mirror as usual, and held his arms out in a manner that was becoming routine.

Matthew couldn't help but pay particular attention to the ritual tonight. Thomas's movements in removing and folding his clothes were so neat and precise that they had an element of grace to them. The light, lingering touches placed his person were unmistakably erotic, yet Thomas remained professional. The routine was the same as it had been the previous day, though it now held an added significance for Matthew. Once in his pyjamas, he sank immediately back into his chair with a sigh of relief and briefly closed his eyes.

After a moment Matthew heard a slight shuffling sound behind him, then felt a feather light touch of his temples. The massaging sensation was wonderfully soothing, and Matthew felt his whole body relax into Thomas's touch. "You have no idea how wonderful that feels," he told the magnificent man whose touch was making the day's stresses feel unimportant. Thomas gave a slight chuckle and moved his hands down Matthew's neck and onto his shoulders.

When there was a slight pause in Thomas's ministrations, Matthew reached for his hands and drew the other man in front of him. "Thank you for that," he said sincerely, playing with the other man's hands. They were larger than his own and slightly callused—perhaps from polishing silver as a footman. But they were beautiful hands, long, slender and pale.

"Anything else I can help you with…Matthew?" Thomas hesitated slightly before saying his name, and it was in that moment Matthew realised Thomas had never called him by his Christian name before.

He raised his eyes to the other man's face and saw Thomas looking directly into his eyes with that come hither look, the one from earlier that morning. Matthew didn't know what to do with that look. He had no notion of how far would be too far, and was startled by the desires Thomas was able to awake in him with no seeming effort.

Matthew cleared his throat, "No, you've done more than enough," he said, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on the side of Thomas's mouth. "Goodnight Thomas," he added softly, releasing the other man's hands.

Thomas stood stupefied by the bedpost for a moment, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. He recovered himself a moment later, and a brief look of anger and confusion flittered across his face, before he schooled his features and stormed across the room. He slammed the door behind him for good measure.

Mathew was left sitting in blinking confusion. What on earth had he done now?


	7. Chapter 7

"Good morning Mr Crawley," Thomas had entered the room with the terrifying stiffness of a man who has trained under Mr Carson. He stood in the centre of the room, refusing to make eye contact. His voice had the proper obsequious inflection of a servant, and his tone was the same one he used almost exclusively for Matthew's mother.

"Thomas…I like it when you call me Matthew," Matthew began, attempting to marshal his thoughts. He wasn't exactly sure why they were fighting or, more aptly, why Thomas was fighting with him, but it was imperative that he fixed things. He rather wished they didn't have to sort this out so early in the morning; he would have liked some more time to figure out exactly how he had offended Thomas.

Thomas practically flinched at his words, and turned away completely, ostensibly to fiddle with Matthew's Sunday clothes. Matthew decided a more direct approach was required. He got out of bed, and warily approached the other man. "Please Thomas, just tell me what I've done so I can apologise," he practically begged.

"Just…stop confusing me so I can do my job," came Thomas's emotionally strained voice. "I have my pride you know, I won't bother you again. Not when you've made it clear you don't want me…"

"Don't want you?" Matthew's shocked voice cut through Thomas's speech. "When have I ever…"

"Last night," Thomas cut him off. "You made yourself very clear"

"Last night?" Matthew was caught completely off guard. "What did I…"

"You sent me away," Thomas said, turning around to face him for the first time. His voice and face were both full of reproach.

"That wasn't a rejection, Thomas," Matthew told him, shocked that his actions had been interpreted that way. "That was for your protection"

"My _protection_?" Thomas almost spat. "My protection from what? I don't suppose your mother has a habit of bursting into your room in the middle of the night as well?"

"No, nothing like that," Matthew struggled to say what he had to delicately. "I know we spent the night together after the Pamuk incident, but that was different. We were both tired and well, nothing was going to happen. But if I were to have you in my room at night, I don't think I would be able to resist…pushing the limits"

"You think I've never been with a man before," Thomas stated incredulously.

"Have you?" Matthew asked. He had never before considered whether or not Thomas could have had lovers before him.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Thomas asked challengingly.

"No, it's not a problem. I just thought…" Matthew began.

"You just thought I was some scared little virgin you needed to _protect_," Thomas interrupted. "Do you have any idea how confusing you are?"

"Me?" Matthew was genuinely flummoxed. "You're impossible to understand. You go through more moods in an hour than I will in a lifetime"

Thomas couldn't help but crack a smile at this. "Try to understand. You keep giving me mixed signals"

"I made my intentions perfectly clear to you," Matthew objected.

"Your 'intentions' are clear as mud Matthew Crawley!" Thomas declared, throwing his hands into the air. "You barely even try to touch me. One moment you're tackling me to the ground and the next you're telling me not to worry, because 'you'll never touch me like that again'"

"We weren't together then! I didn't know you were interested! I thought I was harassing you and you weren't complaining because of your position!" Matthew protested.

"Well we're together now, aren't we? You can push me down if you want to!" Thomas exclaimed before dropping his head, seemingly embarrassed by his own directness.

Matthew took a moment to process the mental images conjured by this extraordinary declaration. However, there was something more on his mind.

"The day I did push you down, you looked frightened," Matthew eventually responded.

"Frightened of you?" Thomas sneered, "You're not exactly the most threatening man out there. You barely even have a chin"

Matthew's hand involuntarily strayed to his face and the offending feature. He knew they shouldn't, but it was always remarks about his person that got to him the most.

"I'm sorry," Thomas looked stricken over the damage caused by his insult. "I love your face. I don't know why I say things like that. I do it to everyone, even people I care about"

"That's alright Thomas," Matthew acknowledged. "But about our…intimacy. You may think I'm supposed to act like some sort of caveman, but I'd rather treat you like the gentleman I'm supposed to be"

"Just because you're a gentleman doesn't mean you can't show passion," Thomas argued.

"Thomas, I realise you're not scared of me. But when I did push you down you looked as though you were. I just want to know why," Matthew persisted in a reasonable tone.

Thomas hesitated, seeming to think for a moment before answering. "The man I was with before you," he began, haltingly. "We fought a lot and sometimes he could get a bit rough. I guess I was just remembering"

"A bit rough? Thomas, did he hit you?" Matthew asked urgently.

Thomas snorted. "I'd have hit him back if he had. He was just a bit rough"

"What does that mean?" Matthew frowned.

"He pushed me down a few times and there's nothing wrong with that, but sometimes…" Thomas faltered.

"What?"

"Sometimes I thought he might not have cared if I didn't consent. But I did. So it didn't matter," Thomas summarised, seemingly unaware of the distress his answer caused Matthew.

"Of course it matters!" Matthew exclaimed, concerned by Thomas's apparent lack of self-respect. How could he have been with someone who had treated him like that?

"At least _he_ wanted me!" Thomas retorted.

"I do _want_ you Thomas," Matthew replied, with conviction.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it," Thomas stated, before storming out of the room for the second time in under ten hours.

Matthew's first instinct was to rush out after him. However, knowing his luck, his mother would be loitering in the hallway to inconveniently ask why he wasn't dressed. Besides, they were close to being late for Church. Frustrated, Matthew stalked across the room and proceeded to hurl himself into his Sunday suit. It would be better talk to Thomas that afternoon anyway, when they were both calm. At least, he hoped they would be.

Matthew couldn't help but feel his earlier hope had been irrational, as he knocked on Thomas's bedroom door. He had told his mother he planned on going for a walk, before sneaking down to the servant's quarters to see Thomas. It aggravated him, having to sneak around his own house. Matthew hated subterfuge of any kind, but was beginning to see he would have to endure a lifetime of it. Still, Matthew firmly believed that Thomas was worth it, just as he was worth the coming confrontation. With this in mind, Matthew steeled himself and knocked twice on the door before entering.

Thomas had been sprawled on the bed with his nose in book, but he shot up immediately upon recognising Matthew at the door. With his terrifying posture in place, he managed to look dignified even in his shirtsleeves, and with rumpled hair. Matthew allowed his gaze to drift across the room out of curiosity. With its white walls and iron bedstead it was terribly bare, to the point of being almost depressing. Matthew would have to fix that.

"You may own this house Matthew Crawley, but the gentry generally respect that the staff's quarters are private and do not enter them without permission," Thomas stated, all sarcastic politeness.

"I don't technically own this house; it's part of Lord Grantham's estate," Matthew responded, unthinkingly.

"I realise you're a lawyer, but you can take your technicalities and…"

Matthew had had plenty of time to reflect on what he wanted to say. He decided to be direct,

"Thomas, I do want you. But I don't want to be rough with you, or bully you, or feel that I am in any way taking advantage of my position as your employer. I want to make love to you," Matthew stated, looking directly at Thomas. There was no way for his message to be misinterpreted.

Thomas returned his stare for a few moments and then, rather astonishingly, coloured. Not a slight flush, but a complete reddening of the cheeks. The blush worked its way up his cheekbones, and then down his neck. Matthew found he couldn't help pressing his advantage, and strode across the room to kiss the flustered man on the mouth.

This kiss seemed different to the few they had shared. Matthew felt confident, almost suave. His movements seemed natural and fluent as he threaded his fingers through Thomas's hair to pull him closer. As though they had both done this many times before. He even allowed his hands to circle Thomas's waist, before pulling the other man flush against his body. The sensations were phenomenal.

It was Thomas who pulled back, after an amount of time Matthew couldn't measure. He was still flushed, and looked maddeningly dishevelled. "Mrs. Bird will be starting dinner soon," he began in a shaky voice. "I have to go and…I hate being the sensible one! It's so much better when you do it"

Matthew laughed at the tangent Thomas had ended up on. "Alright, I'll let you go," he said, releasing the other man. "I'll see you later tonight?" he asked, unable to keep the questioning inflection out of his voice.

It was Thomas's turn to laugh at him. "Of course you will, you daft sod," he answered affectionately, while straightening his uniform.

Matthew gave him a smile before exiting the room, considerably more satisfied with the current situation than he had thought to be.

**A/N: **Hello all! Firstly, thank you for all the kind reviews. You've all been so lovely. Secondly, I wanted to apologise for updates not being as regular lately. I blame University. Finally, I have a question for you. How do you all feel about going up to an M rating? I can keep the story at T if there are issues. Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

Although he was the biological son of a doctor and a nurse, Matthew found he made a terrible patient. He took it as a personal insult every time his health decided to fail him even slightly. He couldn't stand feeling useless, or the required state of inactivity.

His mother had been there to fuss over him that morning, but she had gone off to busy herself at the hospital. Isobel had taken the rather nominal position of Chair of the hospital board, and turned it into a practical day-to-day job. Matthew had always admired his mother's energy, a trait he had inherited from her. With no available employment however, Matthew found this trait more than a little irritating. He found himself ringing the bell to annoy Thomas with little requests, or to trick him into staying for a chat. As the day progressed, Thomas appeared increasingly harried whenever he came to the door.

In spite of this Matthew found himself unable to resist temptation, and rang the bell a final time. After a few moments delay, Thomas burst through the door brandishing a selection of silver candlesticks.

"Alright," he said sternly. "I know you're only doing that because you're bored, and can't stand taking a day off work even though you can barely stand up. So how about you make yourself useful?"

With this announcement, Thomas unceremoniously dumped the pile of candlesticks atop Matthew's bed along with some rags and a jar of polish. Matthew felt unaccountably touched. While not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, Thomas's actions revealed that he knew Matthew and understood how he was feeling. Thomas flopped down next to him on the bed, and began efficiently working his way through the pile of silver. Matthew joined him a moment later, though his efforts were apparently not up to Thomas's standards. He was repeatedly told he had 'missed a spot'.

"Is it really that important?" he asked in frustration after a few moments.

"Yes, it's important. It's about standards!" Thomas exclaimed.

"No one's going to notice a tiny smudge on a candlestick," Matthew protested.

"The dowager would," Thomas declared darkly. "Suppose she went home and mentioned it to her ladies maid, who in turn mentioned it to Anna? Anna might pass it onto Bates, who would pass it onto Mr Carson. Mr Carson would then judge me as incompetent, and our house as being below standard"

"You actually like this job, don't you?" Matthew asked, with considerable surprise.

Thomas paused in his polishing. "I'm proud of this job," he explained. "You have to understand, a few months ago I was a footman desperate to be a valet. Now I'm a butler, and I'm not going to have anyone say I'm not up to the job"

"Well," said Matthew, admiring the determination in the other man's voice. "I guess I'd better get this silverware up to your standards"

Thomas smirked a little, and continued to work through the candlesticks. Matthew reflected that they had not been able to continue the conversation about the consummation of their relationship. They'd been prevented from talking last night by Matthew's excruciating headache, which had developed into this insufferable head cold. Thomas had also had some crisis to attend to downstairs, so they'd had to leave a few things undiscussed. Matthew felt this to be the perfect opportunity, but couldn't bring himself to directly mention the subject.

"Thomas," he began slyly, "how many lovers have you had?"

Thomas once again paused in his polishing. "Four," he replied, clearly attempting to be casual. "But I didn't do _everything_ with all of them. How many lovers have you had?" the last question came out in a challenging tone.

"None," Matthew replied simply.

Thomas gaped. "None?" he questioned, disbelievingly. "But you're…" he trailed off, giving Matthew an appreciative glance. "None?" he repeated, incredulously.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Matthew asked feeling embarrassed.

"Frankly, yes," Thomas answered bluntly. "You went to University didn't you? And school? Somebody must have tried it on"

"There were…temptations," Matthew confessed. "I managed to resist them"

"All this time?" Thomas questioned softly. He thought for a moment then asked, "Why didn't you resist me?"

"I tried," Matthew admitted. "You made it impossible"

He was rewarded for this statement by having the pleasure of seeing Thomas blush once again. '_Twice_,' he thought triumphantly.

"You're a smooth one, and no mistake," Thomas mumbled, focusing on the silver.

"What did you mean by saying you hadn't done 'everything' with some of them?" Matthew asked curiously.

"I just meant that we hadn't…" Thomas's head shot up in alarm half way through his own sentence. "You don't know, do you?" he asked Matthew in a panicked tone.

"Know what?" Matthew asked, slightly irritated.

"How everything works in…well, in bed," Thomas answered. He was gesticulating wildly with his hands and looking as flustered as Matthew had ever seen him. When Matthew realised the full import of Thomas's words, he was inclined to blush himself.

"Well, no," he answered reluctantly. "It's not exactly something your dad sits you down and tells you"

"No. No it's not," Thomas stated, awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Well?" Matthew prompted. "Are you going to tell me?"

Thomas looked vaguely horrified at the idea. He cleared his throat a second time, clearly trying to delay answering. He paused for a moment, steeling himself, then fixed his eyes on a far point of the wall and began speaking. "There are quite a few different ways you can, ah, bring about a conclusion," Thomas winced at his own euphemism. "You can use your hands of course, or your mouth"

"Your mouth?" Matthew questioned, unable to stop himself from looking intently at Thomas's mouth.

"Yes," Thomas glanced down at his hands, as though sensing Matthew's gaze. "There's also, ah, penetrative sex," here Thomas looked up at Matthew, as though begging him to understand.

"But where…" Matthew began, before remembering a rude joke he'd heard somewhere and coming to an abrupt realisation. "But isn't that _painful_?" he couldn't help asking.

"A little, but you can use an oil to make it easier. There's some sort of nerve down there that makes the experience…enjoyable, if you hit it," Thomas answered in a rush, looking relieved to have finished explaining.

"So you like it then?" Matthew asked incredulously. He still had trouble envisioning that particular act being enjoyable for the person on the receiving end.

"Yes, I do," Thomas admitted, flushing bright red yet again.

"You look a little flushed, Thomas. I hope you're not coming down with something as well," Matthew teased, pretending to check Thomas's temperature.

Thomas brushed his hands away, grumbling "Don't tease me Matthew Crawley. I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman"

With that, Thomas gathered up the candlesticks and made to exit the room, declaring, "Now if you don't mind, some of us have work to do"

Matthew had a little chuckle at Thomas's expense before sinking back into his pillows. He attempted to read a few chapters of a book, but found himself distracted thinking about everything Thomas had told him.

**A/N:** Thanks for the feedback guys! The rating will be changing soon. Hope you all enjoyed that rather awkward conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't until Cousin Robert clapped him firmly on the back, that Matthew realised he had been fully accepted into the family. He realised he had endeared himself to Robert somewhat after the Pamuk incident, but he now seemed to have been welcomed into the fold. Apparently the only action required to earn Robert's trust was saving his youngest daughter from being crushed by an angry mob.

Mary also seemed to approve these actions, extending courtesy insofar as to invite him for a late supper of sandwiches. He felt rather comfortable in her presence these days, and the conversation was going amiably. However, the discussion seemed to take an odd turn midway.

"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart," Mary cautioned. "I think she has a crush on you"

Matthew squirmed internally at the thought, but decided to take the comment lightly. "Something you could never be accused of," he joked.

"I'm not so sure," Mary replied, giving him a meaningful look.

"I assume you speak in a spirit of mockery," Matthew remarked, fighting a growing sense of unease.

"You should have more faith," Mary admonished him.

"Should I remind you of some of the choicest remarks you made about me when I arrived here?" Mathew suggested, incredulous at the turn this conversation had taken.

"Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you? You should pay no attention to the things I say," Mary was inclining her head, inching forward ever so slightly.

Matthew panicked. "I've met someone," he confessed abruptly. "Someone I care for a great deal"

"Oh," Mary's gradual movement forward stilled instantly. "Naturally I'm very happy for you," she said stiffly. "When can we expect the pleasure of meeting her?"

Matthew realised he had dug himself an enormous, gaping hole, and didn't know how to circumvent it. "That's the problem. I don't believe any of you would approve my choice," he answered, skirting around the truth, yet unprepared to lie.

"Afraid of bringing a middle class girl home to Granny?" Mary teased. "Don't worry, she's grown rather fond of you, which is proof miracles can happen. You should be fine as long as she doesn't work in an office. I don't know if Granny could stand the modern idea of a young woman working as anything other than a house maid"

"I'm afraid the person in question is closer to working class," Matthew informed Mary in a fit of inspiration, hoping the statement would fend off further questions.

"Well. That will be a problem," Mary acknowledged, looking a little stunned.

"Yes. I hope you understand that I wish to keep this a secret for the time being. I would appreciate it very much if you refrained from mentioning this to other members of the family," Matthew requested seriously.

"Of course. You're scandalous secret is safe with me," Mary answered with a wavering smile.

_If only it were_, Matthew found himself thinking, with a heavy heart. But there was simply no way he could tell Mary the whole truth.

Matthew found Thomas waiting up for him when he returned home. "You should have gone to sleep, darling," he reproached, brushing the other man's forehead with his fingertips. "I told you I'd be late, and I know how early you have to get up"

"You are a bit later than I thought you'd be," Thomas acknowledged, stifling a yawn. "Is Lady Sybil alright?"

"She's fine. I was delayed because Mary invited me to supper," Matthew explained.

Matthew's statement seemed to agitate Thomas. He fidgeted rather nervously, as though he had something important to say. "Please don't marry her," was the statement he finally burst out with.

Matthew felt as though he were beginning a conversation in the middle, without any of the previous facts. He often felt like this when talking to Thomas. "Marry who?" was the first, rather obvious question.

"Lady Mary. Or well, any of the Crawley girls," Thomas demanded. "I understand you have to marry someone, but please not them"

"Thomas, I'm not likely to marry anyone being the way I am," Matthew replied in exasperation. "Especially not when I have you"

Thomas looked rather dumbfounded. "But…won't you need to father an heir?" he asked eventually.

"I'm sure that between Mary, Edith, and Sybil the estate will have plenty of heirs for the next generation without me having to father one," Matthew snorted.

"Well, what about your reputation?" Thomas inquired, looking a little lost.

"It'll be awkward for the next few years," Matthew admitted, thoughtfully. "I imagine a lot of people will introduce me to their daughters, or their nieces. But by the time I reach about fourty, I'll be a perfectly respectable confirmed bachelor. Then no one will bother me about it anymore"

Thomas stared at him blankly for a few moments, before stepping forward and enveloping Matthew in an unexpected hug. He fitted his head into the crook of Matthew's neck and mumbled, "You're a far better man than I deserve"

Matthew stroked a soothing hand down Thomas's back. "You deserve a lot more than you think you do," he told him. Then they were kissing.

Matthew felt his kissing technique had improved a lot lately, due to some near continuous practice. He loved the feeling of Thomas's mouth under his, and felt confident enough to experiment. He introduced his tongue into the other man's mouth.

Thomas jolted a little, surprised by the intrusion and at Matthew for taking initiative. He seemed to welcome the change with enthusiasm, however. Ever since Matthew had revealed his lack of experience, Thomas had been very careful not to push him. Matthew found this quite annoying. It made him understand why Thomas had been so insulted when he'd implied the other man needed protecting. Matthew reasoned it was time to show him he felt more than ready to take the next step.

Matthew encircled his arms around Thomas's waist, and began gradually stepping backward. Thomas barely seemed to register the movements, being wholly focused on the moment. When Matthew felt the backs of his knees hit the bed, he tilted backward and simultaneously seized Thomas's jacket by its lapels, pulling the startled man down on top of him.

"I'm so sorry," Thomas broke away to apologise, clearly thinking he'd initiated this. He moved as though to get up, but Matthew held him in place.

"No. Let's stay here," he insisted firmly.

Thomas met his gaze to check he was serious, then nodded once in agreement. He bent his head to place one delicate kiss on Matthew's mouth, before beginning a series of sweet, secretive little kisses that trailed down his neck.

Matthew lay back for a moment, enjoying the attention, before tentatively placing his hands on the back of Thomas's legs. He traced the inner seams of Thomas's trousers, feeling the shape of his thighs beneath the cloth. His hands travelled further upwards, hesitated a moment, then planted themselves firmly on Thomas's backside. Thomas arched slightly into the touch, encouraging the contact.

"Wanton," Matthew accused flirtatiously.

"Mmm," Thomas murmured in agreement, flicking open the first of Matthew's buttons to place a kiss in the hollow of his throat. He flicked open two more buttons, exploring Matthew's skin as it was revealed to him, before licking a line along his collar bone. Matthew experienced a pleasant shudder, before deciding to reverse their positions.

Matthew rather clumsily flipped Thomas over, causing him to chuckle and wriggle into a more orthodox position on the bed. After this minor adjustment, Matthew surged forward to kiss Thomas on the mouth once again. As they kissed, Thomas began untucking his shirt. Once the task was accomplished, he felt questing hands slip under the fabric to explore the muscles on his back.

Matthew came to the realisation that Thomas was wearing what seemed to be an excessive amount of clothes. To amend this, he began ineffectually attempting to push Thomas's jacket off his shoulders without breaking the kiss. Thomas broke away with a breathless little laugh. "Here, let me up," he instructed, struggling into a half sitting position so that Matthew could remove the jacket. As he did, a little glass vial rolled out of one of the inner pockets.

"What's this?" Matthew asked with a raised eyebrow, knowing perfectly well what the item was for.

"Wishful thinking," Thomas admitted, looking sheepish.

"Hmm," Mathew thoughtfully rolled the vial in his hands. "Do you want to use it?"

"Yes," Thomas conceded carefully, as though unsure of Matthew's reaction.

"On you?" Matthew clarified.

"Yes. That would be…yes," Thomas bumbled slightly.

"Alright," Matthew agreed, trying his best to hide his nervous excitement at the thought.

"Alright," Thomas breathed, leaning forward to continue the kiss.

Matthew found himself slightly distracted from the kiss as he tried to work on further undressing Thomas. He'd barely unbuttoned Thomas's waistcoat before he felt his own shirt slide gently off his shoulders. He supposed he was at something of a disadvantage when it came to undressing, Thomas being a valet. Still, Matthew persevered and managed to remove the waistcoat, only to be challenged by a row of fiddly shirt buttons.

He fumbled with the tiny things so often that Thomas's hands left their delicate exploration of Matthew's torso in order help him. Matthew swatted the hands away. "Let me do it," he insisted.

Eventually he had Thomas at least partially undressed, and pushed him back down onto the bed. Matthew felt slightly overwhelmed by the expanse of bare skin beneath him, as he traced it tentatively with his hands. He was suddenly terrified of doing the wrong thing, or of somehow doing things in the wrong order. Thomas seemed to catch his mood, and carefully took Matthew's face in his hands.

"You don't need to look like you're concentrating so much," he said gently, smoothing out a line Matthew hadn't noticed forming on his forehead. "It's supposed to be fun"

Matthew nodded, and relaxed into the touch. This was _Thomas_. Handsome, infuriating, Thomas, who would most definitely let him know if he was doing something wrong. He had nothing to worry about.

With this in mind, Matthew once again bent his head to kiss the man beneath him. He let instinct take over, beginning first to trace his lips along Thomas's jaw line. He continued until he reached the ear lobe, which he took gently beneath his teeth. Thomas gave a slight shudder, and turned his head to allow further access.

"That feels nice, you can keep doing that," he encouraged.

"What's in it for me?" Matthew teased, feeling daring.

Thomas grinned up at him wickedly before thrusting his hips upwards, rubbing their crotches together. All Matthew's nerves seemed to twitch as arousal coursed through him, and his mind seemed to temporarily vacate his body. "Seems fair," he gasped when he came back into himself, leaning down to follow Thomas's instructions.

Matthew spent a considerable time playing with the shell of Thomas's ear, watching his reactions with fascination. Yet as Thomas became slightly more vocal, and as his breathing became more audible, Matthew found himself growing impatient. He moved his hand to Thomas's belt buckle, meeting the other man's eyes to ask permission. Thomas nodded vigorously in answer to the unspoken question. Matthew fumbled nervously with the belt buckle, but succeeded in undoing it without intervention. Thomas only offered assistance by helpfully lifting his hips off the mattress as Matthew somewhat shakily removed the garments.

There he was. Laid out in front of Matthew, totally and unbelievably bare. It was almost overwhelming. A combination of tenderness and lust made Matthew bend down and plant a kiss on Thomas's inner thigh. Thomas let out a little moan of appreciation, but squirmed slightly when Matthew remained where he was.

"Come up here, I can't reach you," Thomas complained.

As Matthew trailed up Thomas's body, his movements were accompanied by the gentle whisper of cloth against skin. Matthew was irritated he hadn't thought to take his own trousers off, but Thomas was already pulling him into an embrace. Thomas removed Matthew's belt, and unbuttoned his fly with considerable finesse. Yet removing the trousers themselves was inevitably awkward, due to their relative positions on the bed. In frustration, Matthew hopped out of bed and tossed his trousers off.

He turned to see Thomas surveying him, languidly propped up on one elbow, completely bare and unashamed of the fact. Matthew felt a little embarrassed by his own nakedness. It was as though Thomas's gaze locked him in, made him unable to move. Then Thomas smiled, a rare unguarded smile. "You are so lovely," he professed. "Come to bed"

Matthew didn't need a second invitation. He practically jumped on Thomas, who mirrored his impatience by pressing the vial into his hand immediately. Matthew took it, and began coating his fingers in the slick substance. As he completed the task, Thomas began turning around.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked.

"Turning over so that you can…you know," Thomas replied.

Matthew frowned slightly. It wasn't as though he found the view from the back unappealing. On the contrary, Thomas's current position on his side afforded Matthew a view of his muscular back and spectacular arse. But Matthew didn't want to have him that way. He would prefer to face Thomas; he'd always thought it would be that way.

"Can we do it this way?" Matthew questioned, manoeuvring Thomas into his former position.

Thomas's brow creased slightly as he considered. "I suppose so," he answered, though he looked a little confused. "I'll just have to…" here Thomas proceeded to spread his legs.

The moment had come. Matthew pressed a gentle kiss to Thomas's forehead, before moving his fingers down to the little puckered entrance. He pressed inside, feeling every nerve in his body quiver in anxiety and anticipation. He watched Thomas's face for flickers of discomfort or pleasure, as he worked on stretching, and searching for the illusive nerve Thomas referred to. After finding it, he watched in triumph as Thomas bucked and stuttered, lost entirely to sensation.

As Matthew continued his ministrations, Thomas placed a slickened hand on Matthew's penis. Matthew bucked into the touch, feeling dangerously close to losing it as Thomas applied the lubricant. When the tormenting touches stopped, Matthew knew he had to make a move. "Ready?" he managed to gasp out.

Following Thomas's vigorous nod, Matthew began pressing in. He went slowly, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the warm, tight pressure surrounding his member. He stayed still for a while, until Thomas suggested that he "move". Following this directive, Matthew gave his first experimental thrust.

It all seemed to follow naturally after that.


	10. Chapter 10

Matthew collapsed onto Thomas's sweat slicked chest, panting as though he'd run a marathon. Oddly pleasant twinges flickered through his thigh muscles, as he recovered from his orgasm. Eventually, he registered that Thomas was lightly carding fingers through his hair and murmuring something. The words themselves didn't seem that important.

Words…Matthew suddenly found himself feeling acutely embarrassed. He distinctly remembered muttering, "I love you," the moment before his orgasm. Thomas hadn't responded. Matthew remembered a brief expression of worry, or uncertainty, on the other man's face, and then he'd lost himself.

In hindsight, it hadn't been the most romantic time to make a declaration of the kind. He'd tell him again, properly, but hoped they could ignore the subject until then. For now he was more interested in some relaxed, post coital cuddling.

Just as Matthew was beginning to grow drowsy, Thomas sighed. "I'll fall asleep if I stay here much longer"

"So fall asleep here," Matthew suggested.

"Can't," Thomas repressed a yawn. "I'll never get up again"

"That's a perfect idea," Matthew enthused, playfully pinning Thomas's wrists against the mattress, and placing errant kisses across his face.

"Matthew!" Thomas giggled, wriggling beneath him.

"What?"

"Stop it," Thomas protested, still laughing.

"Stop what?" Matthew feigned innocence, continuing the series of kisses. Caught up in the game he failed to hear the steps on the landing, or the turn of the doorknob.

"Matthew, you are back, I was worried sick. How was Syb-"

Matthew turned in horror to see his mother standing in the doorway. As all truly horrible moments do, this one seemed to stretch into eternity. Then it broke.

"Dressed and out of bed in five minutes. Both of you," Isobel demanded, before slamming the door.

"Oh God," Matthew felt Thomas begin to shake.

"It's going to be alright…" Matthew made an attempt at comfort.

"Five minutes!" Isobel barked from outside. In that moment, Matthew hated his mother.

Isobel had insisted on seeing them both separately, and on speaking to Thomas first. Matthew paced outside the drawing room, and wondered why he had allowed this to be done. It was his house, he was heir; his mother just lived there. He supposed it was the shock, and the fear.

The sky was lightening by the time Thomas appeared at the door. Though they'd only had five minutes to dress, his butler managed to look neat and presentable. Matthew supposed it was his natural fastidiousness.

"She wants to see you," Thomas said hollowly.

Matthew touched Thomas's arm in comfort, squared his shoulders and entered the room. Though she must have had a near sleepless night, his mother was still in attack mode.

"How could you?" she spoke with a clipped, controlled rage. "You knew how hard it would be for him to say no. Think of his position! I never thought you would take advantage of…"

Matthew bristled. "Thomas and I are both adults, and…"

"Adults! That _boy_ thinks he's in love with you!"

In spite of the situation, Matthew felt himself fighting down a soppy smile. "Thomas told you that?"

"Yes. I think it best for everyone that you stop leading him on. I won't have this going on under my roof"

"It's my roof, mother, and I'm not leading Thomas on. I feel the same way. We're both adults and we have a right to…"

"You have no rights!" Isobel's eyes bulged dramatically. "Is that what you want? A lifetime of having to hide? A lifetime of shame, and indecency? What you _feel_ isn't love Matthew, it's lust"

"Don't tell me what I feel," Matthew said icily.

"What then, beyond the obvious, is your interest in Thomas? What can you have to talk about? I assume he left school at the age of fourteen. What do you discuss? Literature?"

"Thomas reads," Matthew said defensively. "You don't know anything about him. You pretend to be _kind_ and _interested_, but that's really for Cousin Violet's benefit, isn't it? So you can feel superior"

"I won't tolerate this Matthew," Isobel said smoothly. "You're my son, and I love you. I would never report you. But I can't live in the same house while this is going on. I must speak my mind"

"Then leave"

"After all I've done for you?" Isobel spluttered. "You would turn me out on the streets, because I care enough to disapprove…"

"It must be very disappointing, after all that work you put in trying to fix me," Matthew acknowledged. "I'm not turning you out onto the streets, mother. We have the house in Manchester. You can go there"

"The treatments were never my idea," Isobel snapped.

"You never did anything to stop them"

"We were worried Matthew. With good reason, as it happens"

"I'm not going to change," Matthew reiterated a familiar sentiment. "I'm not going to let you change me"

"What's going on?" Thomas asked urgently, when Matthew emerged from the drawing room.

"You love me," Matthew inexplicably felt his world brighten, even as it was collapsing.

"Yes," Thomas admitted warily.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"You said it while we were…" Thomas awkwardly waved his hand. Matthew puzzled over the contrast between Thomas's confident behaviour in bed, and his extreme awkwardness in talking about it. He found the distinction endearing.

Matthew decided to remedy his earlier lack of romanticism. "I love you, Thomas Barrow," he declared, kneeling.

"I love you too, you silly git," Thomas said, looking scandalised that Matthew had made such a declaration in the hallway. "Now what's going on?"

"Isobel is relocating to Manchester. Doesn't want sodomites living under her roof," Matthew couldn't bring himself to call her 'mother' just then.

"Is she…she's not…going to the police?" Thomas hazarded.

"No. She's my mother. She loves me a little bit," Matthew was surprised at the anger in his own voice.

"Of course she does. She just doesn't understand. She's scared," Thomas soothed. To Matthew, the words were unconvincing.

There was a brief pause, as neither of them knew what to say. It was Thomas who broke the silence. "What are you going to tell people? About why she left?"

"That she didn't approve of me buggering the servants," Matthew suggested humourlessly. He saw a flash of hurt cross Thomas's face and cursed himself for speaking so coarsely. "Thomas, I…"

"It's alright," Thomas interrupted. "You're tired, and you've had a shock. You should go and lay down. I've called the office, I told them you wouldn't be in today"

Matthew felt awash in a sea of guilt. In the course of one morning he'd thrown out his mother, and been rude to his lover. Thomas being so considerate and understanding only worsened matters.

"What about you?" Matthew protested.

"I'll have to pack Mrs Crawley a case, and book her a train ticket. Then we'll have to think about arranging for the rest of her things to be sent on. The Crawley's will need to be informed, so will Mrs Bird for that matter. But before all that, breakfast needs to be served. I imagine you'll want tea?" Thomas rattled off a list of tasks.

"But you…" Matthew began to argue.

"It's my job," Thomas firmly informed him, before striding off to do just that.

**A/N:**__I'd like to take a quick moment to thank all my lovely reviewers. All the feedback I've received has been amazing, and I've been given some great pointers. I particularly appreciate those who have been leaving regular reviews. It's very nice to see that people are continuing to follow the story and are still enjoying it. That said, I appreciate every review, favourite, and follow I've received. Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

Gripped by an uncharacteristic fit of malaise, Matthew found himself unable to get out of bed that day. Alternately overwhelmed with guilt, anger, or sadness, Matthew made plans to never leave the bed. He stuck to this resolution until sundown when Thomas came into his room and demanded he leave it to attend a meal. Matthew refused. Thomas pursed his lips and looked upwards as though praying for patience. Matthew remembered he hadn't gotten any rest last night, and most likely wouldn't have gotten any today. He was about to suggest Thomas lay down for a minute, but Thomas was already busying himself about the room, putting items in an order Matthew had never consciously noticed.

"I usually do this when you're out of the room," Thomas answered his unspoken question. "But since you're refusing to leave…"

Matthew remained silent. Thomas would get over his little fit of pique. "Have you thought anymore about my question this morning? What are we telling people? Or should I pen a polite note to the Crawley's telling them of your penchant for buggering_ servants_? Also, perhaps Mrs Bird should be informed of your intentions since you used the plural form"

Matthew sat up, inarticulate in his unjustifiable anger. While Matthew knew Thomas was right to be angry about his comment that morning, he felt it was unfair of the other man to bring it up. His anger quickly died when he saw the smirk on Thomas's face. Thomas had simply been trying to provoke Matthew into responding. He had to hand it to Thomas; the man knew how to push his buttons.

"I am sorry I said that this morning. It was crass, and disrespectful," Matthew acknowledged. "Just don't ask me to be practical right now. I can't do it"

Matthew slumped back down among the pillows, as though admitting defeat. Thomas sighed in frustration. "Mrs Crawley received a letter a week ago, inviting her to head a new training college for nurses or some such. We'll tell the family she decided to accept the position and left today."

"They'll wonder why she didn't say goodbye, or make arrangements. Especially since she's chair of the hospital board"

"Tell them it's a quirk of her character. She doesn't do goodbyes"

"Perhaps she doesn't. She didn't say goodbye to me"

"Oh, Matthew," the frustration went out of Thomas's voice. The bed shifted under what Matthew assumed was Thomas's weight. He felt Thomas's hands stroking through his hair, then Thomas's arms wrapping around his torso and holding him close. Matthew resisted a sudden urge to finally cry.

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered.

"For what?"

"For being the one that ruined it all for you. You were fine before I came along. Now-"

"Stop," Matthew cut him off. "You're worth it. Everything"

Infuriatingly, Matthew felt moisture trailing down his cheeks. He didn't want to cry in front of Thomas. He wanted to be the strong one. The one holding Thomas and telling him everything would be all right.

"Thank you," Thomas said, apropos of nothing.

"For what?"

"For choosing me"

It had never occurred to Matthew that there was another option. But he supposed now that he could have blamed Thomas, had him fired, and continued life with his mother. The thought was repugnant.

"I'll always choose you," Matthew reassured him.

"I'll bring you up a tray, tell Mrs Bird she can go home for the night," Thomas said, but didn't move.

Matthew felt Thomas's breathing deepen, and realised he'd fallen asleep. Matthew turned to face his lover, careful not to break the embrace. He gently kissed Thomas's closed eyelids, before biting the bullet and getting out of bed.

First, Matthew carefully removed Thomas's shoes and carefully covered him with a blanket. This accomplished, Matthew made his way downstairs for dinner. It was necessary to put in an appearance so that he could inform Mrs Bird that Mr Barrow had 'fallen ill'. Unlikely as it was that Mrs Bird would go looking for either of them, he didn't fancy getting caught in bed with Thomas again.

An air of normality returned as Matthew went through his usual morning routine the next day. Thomas was dressing him in front of the mirror, in the same way he had before they'd realised their feelings, before they'd made love and been caught, before Isobel had left. Matthew had a sense of unreality reflecting on all these sudden changes. As ever, Thomas was not in an introspective mood, but a practical one.

"I told your boss you weren't in yesterday because of a family emergency. Sybil was injured at the political rally, and her doctor asked you to stay with her and watch for signs of concussion. You were too exhausted to work the next morning"

"I got a fair bit of ribbing the last time you rang the office"

"Why's that?"

"Not many solicitors have their own butler," Matthew explained. Thomas's nonplussed expression made Matthew think of the time he'd had to explain weekends to the dowager. "Most of us being pretty firmly middle class," he added.

Matthew decided not to tell him that a few of his more obnoxious colleagues had started referring to Thomas as 'Mrs Crawley'. Apparently this nickname was prompted by the fact that Thomas was the one who called the office whenever Matthew was ill. Its use was increased after it was discovered Matthew telephoned Thomas when he thought he'd be home late (so he'd know when to serve dinner, obviously). The term was cemented the day Thomas gave Matthew a packed lunch to take to work, as Matthew apparently hadn't eaten enough breakfast.

Matthew knew the teasing was good-natured for the most part, though he doubted it would be if any of his co-workers did suspect something of that nature. Still, he privately enjoyed the joke. He could almost pretend his relationship was acknowledged and accepted, not something he had to hide.

"Remember to stop by the abbey this afternoon," Thomas was saying. "We shouldn't leave it too late"

"I will," Matthew promised, tilting his chin up to be kissed. Thomas obliged. He seemed rather anxious on Matthew's behalf.

"Will you be alright?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," Matthew reiterated, as he had all morning. He didn't know whether it was true, but it was starting to _sound_ as though it were.

The Crawley family seemed to take Matthew's explanations and apologies in good faith, though they were understandably put out by Isobel's behaviour. Naturally, Cousin Mary was the exception to the rule, and Matthew was unable to escape her suspicion. Therefore, they were 'taking a turn about the garden'.

In layman's terms, Mary had isolated him for the purpose of interrogation. Matthew fell back on his tried and tested method of telling half-truths. He told Mary that Isobel had discovered him with his lover, and had disapproved. His mother had decided to express this disapproval by moving to Manchester.

"Isobel disapproved? But your mother always seemed so liberal. I'd have thought she'd let you marry whoever you liked"

"That's the thing about people who _seem_ liberal," Matthew answered scathingly. "They're often far more conservative than conservatives"

"Unlike people like you, I suppose. Who appear deeply dutiful, but really have secret love affairs with deeply unsuitable people," Mary observed. "I really am most curious, you know"

"I'm sure," Matthew smiled tightly.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to find someone else to marry," Mary sighed. "Preferably someone with a large fortune, since you're stealing mine"

"I can always endanger the estate so you can get that private bill in parliament, if you like," Matthew offered. "Perhaps I'll bankrupt it by investing in, I don't know, _trains_ or something"

Mary grinned at him. "Or I could have you locked in an asylum," she suggested evilly. At this they both collapsed into immature fits of giggles.

"You know," Mary said breathily, once they'd recovered. "I'm glad you didn't kiss me. I think we're far better off as good friends"

"The best," Matthew returned, offering her his hand. Mary shook it warmly, and then pecked him lightly on the cheek. A purely friendly gesture that filled Matthew with surprised warmth. Mary Crawley was a very valuable friend and ally.

**A/N: **Thank you for your responses to the last chapter. All the reviews sent to me were greatly appreciated. A common request was to have Isobel's character further explored, and I would definitely love to do that. Other reviewers wanted to see Thomas's devious sarcastic side come into the story more. This has been hard to incorporate so far, as Thomas is generally really nice to people he fancies.

However, I have a solution! I'm planning to write a spin off focusing on both Thomas and Isobel. It begins with Thomas sending a letter blackmailing Isobel to ensure she doesn't go to the police about him and Matthew. Isobel unexpectedly replies to the letter, and the two become unlikely pen friends. Character development and exploration ensues. I should warn you though; I haven't started this project so it'll likely be a while.

On another note, I'm considering writing the final chapters of this story from Thomas's point of view. This was originally going to take place completely from Matthew's perspective but now I'm wavering. Thoughts?


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